Where You Are
by shandiss
Summary: Several years past the events in Abide, Ranger receives a handmade gift.  Completely Babe.  Rated M.  One shot from a PP Challenge.


_All Plum characters belong to JE. This is a Babefic from the Abide universe, although several years past those events. Also—proof that there will eventually be a HAPPY Babe ending! Rated M for adult situations, because _somebody _can't keep her hands to herself. All grammatical/spelling/colloquialism mistakes are completely mine. One shot for the Perfectly Plum Sally's April Sewing Challenge:· Write a story about the special meaning of a quilt/other handmade memento._

_**Where You Are**_

"_My dearest beloved Carlos, I miss you. When the sun wakes me in the morning, I open my eyes and miss you. When I eat the evening meal in the crowded hall, I miss you. At night, when I wish on the first eastern star, I miss you."_

He let the letter fall from his fingers to the polished oak table. It rustled in the ever-present drafts that plagued every castle in the country. Ranger glanced around his room, his dark gaze studying the fire burning determinedly in the grate and the leaded glass window shut tightly against the fall morning.

The room wasn't much, but he didn't expect much. At the moment he was merely an anonymous member of the Duke of Westborne's retinue. Without Steph, he was but a shadow that blended into the glittering maelstrom of the Court, and no one paid him much attention at all. That left him free to walk amongst the lowborn and high with equal ease, gathering intelligence and reporting back to His Grace as they moved to find the traitors in their midst.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with one finger, a slow massage that eased the tension building there. New cultures weren't anything he couldn't handle, but he wasn't getting any younger. And this careful dance of word and glance was infinitely tougher than a hit and fade mission against a solitary outpost.

He breathed out, willing the tension from his body, and picked up the letter again.

"_The work on the walls is nearly finished. Except for some piles of debris, it's hard to tell where they were breached. With the crops harvested, there's been little to keep me busy, so I miss you even more. I've been riding a lot, but Dimelza cornered me after breakfast a few weeks ago and frog marched me into the solar. Before I knew it, she buried me under bolts of cloth for shirts and dresses."_

Ranger glanced at the bundle of cream-colored wool on the table beside him. The light from the window gleamed on the fabric, shimmering through the shades woven into the cloth by Dimelza's masterful hand. Leaning forward, he grasped the garment and flipped it wrong side out. With a keen eye, Ranger looked at the seams until he found the ones he sought. Rough and uneven, they ran downward on the right side, with holes poked into the weave around them to show where Steph ripped out her first attempts.

"_Yes, I made the shirt. Well, not all of it. Dimelza picked out the cloth from her stores and showed me how to cut it out. She has the patience of a saint and stubbornness to rival mine. I thought I would never learn, but she kept bringing me back to the beginning and making me start over."_

His finger traced the side seam as he noted how the stitches slowly evened out. In his mind's eye, he could see Steph bent over the shirt, her chin set in a stubborn line as she laboriously pulled needle and thread through the fabric.

"_At first I hated every moment that I spent on it. But when I wanted to quit, I realized that I was making the shirt for you—that you would put this shirt on and wear it next to your skin. I could feel the heat of your body warm the cloth, and I imagined that it was my hands touching you."_

His breath caught, and he closed his eyes. Only Steph could kindle the heat within him at the mere reminder of her touch. With her there was no restraint, no self-control. The fiery passion between them wouldn't allow it even if a single glance from her fair blue eyes wasn't enough to strip away his every defense.

_Sewing isn't very distracting once you get the hang of it. So I started thinking as I stitched, and I thought of you. I remembered that day of the Ren Faire joust. I loved you then, but I didn't think I could ever be good enough for you. Thank God you didn't give up on me or on us. Thank God I finally realized that I would never give up on you._

The pain was still there, the keen, hot thrust through his heart at the memory of those days when misunderstanding and peril nearly tore them apart. He knew Steph was his weakness. From the time she walked into the diner with that determined air and her heart unguarded, he knew Stephanie Plum could be his death. It took too long for him to understand she was also his best chance at life.

_I love you, Carlos Manoso. Always. Remember that when you wear this shirt that I made with my own hands, and remember me. Forever yours, Stephanie._

Ranger carefully folded the letter and laid it on the table. He stripped out of his tunic and undershirt, and tossed them onto the bed. As he slid the soft fabric of Steph's shirt over his head, the wool whispered across his skin in a soft lover's caress. Standing in the middle of his room, with his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even, he remembered everything he could about his wickedly talented, beautiful wife. And he missed her.

A soft knock on the door broke his concentration. Young Tobias edged into the room, his summer sky blue eyes anxious as he held out a square of folded white paper. "Your pardon, m'lord. I was to deliver this to you when—"

He broke off as Ranger took the paper and flipped it open.

_So are you going to get your ass in gear already? The sun's a little warm in this courtyard and I want my lunch. S._

Thought never entered into the equation. Ranger was out of the room and sprinting down the hallway, weaving around startled servants and courtiers alike, his brain completely focused on one goal. He narrowly missed the Lord Chamberlain on the stairs and threw an incoherent apology over his shoulder as he hit the bottom stair and kept going.

He turned hard right before the main corridor, opting instead to take the service passage that would be empty this time of day. It led directly to the wide double doors fronting the eastern courtyard, and he went through them like the demons of Hell were on his heels.

Confusion reigned in the open cobble-stoned space. Wagons and horses filled every available corner as people crowded between them. Ranger scanned the entire space until he saw an unmistakable brown horse with a white blaze and the dark-haired figure sliding out of his saddle.

By the time he reached her, Steph had handed her reins to the waiting Istvan who led Palamon away. She turned and her eyes sparkled as they met his. "Carlos," she said, her voice full of laughter at the success of her ruse.

Conscious of the many eyes watching them, he gave her an arched eyebrow and bowed formally. "Welcome to Court, m'lady."

As he straightened, Steph took two steps and flung her arms around him. Her lips found his with unerring accuracy, and she kissed him until he forgot protocol, etiquette and the mules they rode in on. His arms pulled her tighter against him and he kissed her back, drinking in her taste and the welcome feel of her body molded to his.

It might have been a lifetime later that he pulled back slightly. "Not sure that was completely according to standard protocol, Babe," he whispered.

Steph grinned at him impishly and Ranger tensed. Carefully, he reached back with one hand and removed hers from where it was planted firmly on his ass. He brought it around until he could trap it between them. "_That_ is most certainly not a part of the formal greeting. Were you trying to cop a feel?"

Her lips brushed against his neck as she leaned into him. "If that didn't rate as a flat out grope, I'll have to work on my technique. Obviously I'm out of practice."

"There is nothing wrong with your aim," Ranger said. He dropped a kiss on her temple. "But practice is always good."

Before Steph could react, he scooped her into his arms. Her muffled shriek of surprise garnered a few glances from the people around them, but they merely smiled and quickly went back to their own business.

She locked her hands behind his neck and gave him a mock stern glance. "What are you doing?"

"Celebrating," he informed her. "It's good to be home, Babe."

Steph cocked her head to one side. "We're not at home."

"I am." He leaned in and kissed her again. "My home is where you are."


End file.
